


Perfecter

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2019-11-24 21:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: Absence makes the heart (among other things) grow fonder, particularly when one cannot help but obsessing over the other's bottom and thighs.





	Perfecter

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a… tweet or two. Included below, with attributions in the form of a link. On the occasion of reaching 10,000+ followers on Twitter (her, not me). (PSST, thanks to [](http://iwasmadetolove.livejournal.com/profile)[**iwasmadetolove**](http://iwasmadetolove.livejournal.com/) for excellent suggestion!)
> 
> Disclaimer: There would be much blushing and/or legal action were it discovered, but I stand to make nothing from this, and also, you'll notice no names (aside from quoted tweets) are mentioned. Right?
> 
> [Import notes: the Twitter accounts referenced are now inactive, but it was HF writing them. At least the Bridget one. But they were legit character accounts. When they were active, oh man. Heady days.]

**bridgetjoneshf**  
@markdarcylegal Don't miss you too or anything. Not even a tiny minsicule amount as big as a grain of sand in Lybian or Abbotistan desert x  
[5/12/11 8:49 PM](http://twitter.com/#!/bridgetjoneshf/status/68764829044838400) (London Summer Time)

**markdarcylegal**  
@markdarcylegal @bridgetjoneshf ...not even a teeny teeny amount ?even tinier and perfecter than Bridget Jones' bottom? If that's possible?  
[5/12/11 8:53 PM](https://twitter.com/#!/markdarcylegal/status/68765663841370112) (London Summer Time)

<><><>

**bridgetjoneshf**  
GAVI vaccination conference did it! Got squillions off of all the donors to vaccinate kids and save#4mlives. Well done everyone! #passiton  
[6/13/11 5:33 PM](https://twitter.com/bridgetjoneshf/status/80311879683158016) (London Summer Time)

**markdarcylegal**  
@bridgetjoneshf Well done. See what you can do when stop obsessing re: your thighs? See you later to obsess re:your thighs ?  
[6/13/11 5:38 PM](https://twitter.com/markdarcylegal/status/80312985670791168) (London Summer Time)

* * *

She expects a call, an email, even a direct message; she doesn't expect to hear nothing at all, particularly after such titillating suggestiveness—in public, of all places, for anyone to read!—which has excited her anticipation even further.

She isn't surprised, though. Not after the way he'd left, not after so many promises have been made then broken regarding his return. She'd tried to be understanding, told herself that there would be inevitable delays when trying to leave a place that required he wear combat gear. But a mention of being in Venice with no solid plans to return… the last she'd heard, Venice was not a combat zone. He should have been free to come home at his leisure…

She sighs and asks herself why she does this to herself, why she lets a man get under her skin in such a fashion, but deep down she knows there is no rational reason for it. She simply loves him beyond all sense.

She has another sip of wine from the bottle she'd bought expecting his return and scans the screen of her laptop, reading yet another synopsis of the success of the charity movement she'd helped to promote. She smiles, but it's bittersweet. She's still drinking wine, at home, all on her own.

There's a quiet rap at the door. She furrows her brows, then sets down her laptop and wineglass, then rises in order to answer it, feeling only then the effects of the extremely excellent [Cortese di Gavi](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cortese_di_Gavi). "On my way," she calls, then carefully navigates across the floor towards the stairs down to her door.

She swings it open without thinking and realises her mistake immediately: not because someone dangerous is standing there, but because—

"What have I told you about answering the door without asking who's there first?"

He's leaning on his elbow on the doorframe, highlighted by stray hall light and smirking playfully. Her heart lurches to see him. He's in need of a shave, and though he's in his usual suit his shirt's unbuttoned to the third button (near scandalous) and his tie is gone. She can see as he steps into the flat he's biscuit brown from the sun, and his hair's a little longer than she's used to.

"Bastard," she whispers. She lunges and throws her arms around him. He returns the embrace fully, nuzzling his nose into her hair. She then pushes away to pound ineffectually on his chest. "Why didn't you call? Or tweet? Or anything?"

"Everything was so uncertain," he says. "I didn't want to get your hopes up if I couldn't make it. I've disappointed you enough already."

If she'd still been angry or irritated at him, any remaining traces disappear with his confession. She smiles, her vision blurring with emotional tears. "I think I can be persuaded to—"

She stops talking because he's taken her in his arms again, taken her mouth with his, and is bending to sweep her up into his arms. His hands feel hot against her bottom; her legs tighten around his waist. He kicks closed the door then scales the stairs carefully as he carries her up and back into the flat; all the while his lips are rough against hers, tongue invading and dominating her mouth. She groans a little, arching into him, feels the effect of a near-three-month absence pressing against her. She's very thankful for the light, short, summery dress she's wearing, but then again, she had dressed for him, and she knows what he likes.

He lowers them onto the sofa—marginally closer than bed, she supposes with amusement—then lays her back against the raised chaise end. He leans and nuzzles into her neck, grazes his fingers against her thighs, lifting her dress. She lifts her chin to afford easier access. "Darling," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, his breath hot on her skin. "Thought about you so much. Missed you."

She knows now is not the time or chiding, for wondering why he needed to be gone so long in the first place, because despite all of her earlier thoughts she's missed him too. That and his hands are very insistent, running over the skin of her thigh. This action is very distracting, and very welcome.

"Obsessing, hmm?" she teases lightly, then gasps as he sweeps his fingers along her inner thigh and along her bottom.

"Mmm," he growls; clearly it's an assent. "They are perfect, after all. In fact, perfecter than perfect."

Neither is it the time for disagreement, especially as his fingers are now traversing the edge of her dampened panties. He makes another throaty sound in time with her own. "Have to have you," he informs her, struggling with one hand with his trouser button and fly. She helps him along but before she can push his trousers and boxers down over his hips he moves up against her. 

She lifts her own hips in order to work her pants off, but he makes it more difficult in that he seems determined to simply work around them. Lifting her hips has an unexpected benefit, though; he's able to drive forward hard into her, groaning as he does. He tangles his fingers into her hair, grazing his teeth against her earlobe as he thrusts wildly with no less force, alternately moaning or uttering praise and delicious vulgarities under his breath and into her ear. She is certain the neighbours can hear not only the sound of their shagging but the pounding of her heart; with her fingers clutching desperately into the smooth twill of his jacket she arches up into him.

In very little time at all, his muscles tense as he drives forward one last time, groaning as he comes, holding onto her very tightly as he shudders with that release. He draws in then exhales a long breath, placing his lips to her throat, chin, cheek then mouth.

"Sorry," he says quietly. "For the haste, I mean. It's just been… too long."

She laughs lightly; she understands, even if she didn't reach her own satisfaction. "So," she says. "Haven't been shagging other girls while in the bunk?"

"Absolutely not," he says in a scolding tone. "In the bunk was just myself and three older men. Even after weeks on end… not appealing to me in the least." 

She smiles, then laughs again, combing her fingers through his hair before kissing him sweetly on the lips. "Far too long," she echoes, kissing his cheek, then the juncture of his jaw and ear.

He sits up, pulling her with him to straddle his lap, then holds her in his arms as he leans back against the sofa, sighing very contentedly. "Oh," he says suddenly. "You have some Gavi. Did you get that for me? I'm sorry, darling."

"You couldn't have known," she says. "It's all right." After a moment's thought, she adds, "You know, If you're hungry, I've got dinner that wouldn't take but a moment to warm."

"Very domestic of you," he says with a chuckle, kissing her again. "I'd love it. But…"

Her heart races. "'But' what?"

"Well, _you_ ," he says. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, unless my memory is very much failing me, I'm pretty sure you… didn't finish."

She laughs a little. "The thought that you might not make it through due to fainting from hunger is a bit of a mood killer," she returns. "Have some wine, and I'll get that for you." With a final kiss, she rises from his lap, smoothing her dress down. As she starts to cross the room she realises that she has to get rid of her uncomfortably damp pants; at the same time her 'perfecter' bottom and thighs are reminding her how achy they'll be in the morning.

_Well worth it_ , she thinks.

She pops the plate of steak and buttered new potato quarters into her microwave, then takes a side trip into the loo to discard the pants. She smirks naughtily at the thought of his reaction to her reappearing with nothing on beneath her dress.

When she returns with the plate she sees he's removed his jacket, done up his trousers, and is already taking a long draw from his wineglass. Only then does she get a sense of the urgency with which he'd come to see her from wherever it was he'd been. _The airport?_ she speculates. Ultimately it doesn't matter. He is here now, and when he sees she has reappeared he smiles again.

"Smells fantastic," he says as she sets the plate down along with a knife and fork on the table beside the wine. As he cuts into the steak and begins digging in with vigour, she reaches and tops up her own glass, then leans back into the sofa and has a long sip. "Tastes fantastic," he adds between bites. She feels proud to the point of bursting. 

As the pace of his eating slows down to something less than feeding frenzy, he begins to look a lot more thoughtful. "I am sorry," he says after he finishes up. "For going away with the most ridiculous and least respectable of reasons."

"You needed space," she said.

"As I said." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I guess I was feeling a bit…" He flushes red. "I was feeling like I was getting too dependent on you, and that scared me a little. But I shouldn't have gone. And then once I was gone it was very difficult to get back. It wasn't fair to leave you hanging."

"It wasn't fair not to talk to me about it," she says, though part of her understands why he'd reacted like he had; many a self-help book had addressed this very topic.

"That too. Then you drove me out of my mind when you started flirting on the internet with other men… not proud of how I acted, but it made me realise how much I didn't want to lose you." He reaches out with an upturned hand to ask for her own. "I was being a stupid fuckwit of a male and I hope you can forgive me."

He was very good at being self-deprecating, at knowing exactly what she needed to hear, when he needed to be. This latest statement of his makes her laugh. "I would hope I could, as I've just let you ravage me on the sofa."

He smiles modestly. "Very true," he says. "Otherwise you would have just shut the door in my face."

"Or kneed you in the groin."

At this he laughs aloud. "You know, I can't think now why I should be afraid to be dependent on you," he says. "It is after all a terribly wonderful state to be in." He brings her knuckles to his lips for a gallant kiss. As he does his brows furrow. His gaze is focused at a downward angle.

"What is it?"

"You… were wearing pants before, weren't you?"

It occurs to her only then that with the way she's sitting, fully one half of her backside is exposed to him. She hastens to pull the bottom of the dress back down, but he only chuckles. 

"No need to do that on my account," he says. "Quite like the sight of your bottom. Just thought perhaps I had ruined them in my haste before without even realising it."

"Not in any permanent fashion."

He stares at her backside for many moments, during which his expression changes, darkening with an obvious lust even as he appears very thoughtful. He then leans forward as if to kiss her, but instead of placing his lips on hers, he keeps going and lands them on her exposed backside. One hand comes around and cups her arse as his mouth moves up to where her hipbone is. As he shifts, the other hand pushes her knees apart.

She'd ask him what he's doing, but she knows, and the thought of it makes her lose her head just a bit. She sighs at the feel of his lips on her abdomen, his tongue flat against the skin there then drawing tantalisingly along the crease of her leg. His fingers tease along her sensitive inner thigh. She tilts her hips up. Instantly she wants more.

"Haven't forgotten," he says reverently, just as he lowers his head. At the feel of his slick tongue against her, she draws in a very sharp breath; as he flits his tongue against her with greater pressure, she starts to whimper a bit and push her hips into his efforts. His hands cup her arse; his fingers dig into her in his zeal. She can feel the heat of his breath on her, can feel his low vocalisations vibrate across and through her as he gives her his utmost attention. As he teases an already charged nerve core with his tongue, she feels one hand lift from her backside then feels his fingers pushing into her. She cannot control the moan that escapes her, and as his pace and counter-pace build with an ever quickening frenzy at these dual centres of attention, she very quickly reaches her climax.

Her head drops back against the chaise back as he places tender kisses along her inner thigh. She feels like she's subsiding into the sofa. Sensation zings along her every nerve ending; she takes in then lets out a long, steady breath, a smile upon her lips the whole time. She feels his weight shift on the cushions, and she turns her head to see he's moved to sit beside her hips, a very smug smile on his face. He leans to kiss her tenderly. "Have very much missed you," he says. He could say it a million times and she wouldn't tire of hearing it. He flattens down the skirt of her dress to cover her. "Come here."

He moves to sit comfortably back as she turns to snuggle against him. It feels so good just to be there in his arms again; his solid, strong form, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes steadily, the beating of his heart. As they sit like this, he starts telling her what exactly he's been doing while he's been away, about the work he'd done in Liberia to help the new-born government there, trying to help stabilise the citizens' lives, help them to flourish in the midst of so much turmoil.

"I thought Liberia without me was still Liberia," she teases gently.

"Told you, irrationally jealous," he said. "I was in a situation of my own making, Istanbul, Scunthorpe, and London be damned." She chuckles. " _Any_ place would be miserable without you."

She tightens her embrace, lifts her chin and places a kiss on the underside of his.

"I am terribly, embarrassingly proud of you for today," he murmurs.

"I hardly did a thing," she said.

"Don't be so modest," he said. "You raised awareness with your little cult of followers, and that has had a bigger effect than you probably realise. You managed to take a very unpleasant, serious subject and pass it on in a light, funny way that proved highly effective, likely far more effective than a dry lecture alone, even if you were pulling our legs a bit and feigning ignorance when in fact you'd already educated yourself thoroughly on the subject. There is no end to the gushing I hear about you from the upper levels of the organisation." 

It's his jealousy rearing its head again, and she chuckles again. "You seem to have a little cult of your own, you know."

"Do I?"

"Mm," she says, "and I may just be the head disciple."

"Are you now?" he asks, lifting his fingers to trace lightly along her chin, her throat. 

"Mm-hmm."

He bends to kiss her quickly. "I approve."

The sweet kiss turns into something deeper, more passionate, as if they are savouring every second of it, before she nuzzles into his neck, holding on to him tightly. _Don't do this again_ , she thinks; _Don't leave me in such uncertainty._

"I never said so while I was gone," he whispers, "but I love you. Haven't stopped."

She smiles. "That, sir, is the absolutely best, most perfect thing to say."

He makes a _tsk_ sound. "Not 'most perfect'. Perfecter."

She giggles, then rears back and pecks a kiss on his lips, then pushes herself away. She stands then turns to see he looks confused, at least until she reaches out to him. He rises, takes her hand, and allows himself to be led to the bedroom.

It's tidier than usual in her room—she had hoped for his appearance, after all—and once through the door she turns and begins undoing his shirt. 

"I could do this faster—"

"Shush," she scolds as she pushes his shirt back off of his shoulders; he slips out of it as she works open the button and fly of his trousers. She works his trousers down over his hips, then takes the waistband of his boxers with her thumbs and pulls down slowly until gravity can take over.

"Darling," he says impatiently as she peels off his undershirt. "Your dress."

"Just getting there." She throws this remaining garment away, then reaches down for the bottom hem of her dress and slowly pulls it up and over her head. With her gaze locked to his she plucks at the clasp on the front of her bra and opens it. He makes an approving sound as she does.

After slipping it from her shoulders, she steps forward, takes his hips in her hands, gets up on her toes and kisses him deeply. She presses herself against him, and the feel of his skin against hers sends a thrill through her. She brings her arms up and around his neck, pulling herself up even closer still. His hands find her waist, then move down to cover her arse, pressing gently, causing her to sigh.

She takes a step forward, urging him towards the bed. He does not need further encouragement, breaks from the kiss to push back the duvet and sheets to get in bed, taking the side he always prefers. She knows he expects her to slip in beside him. She has other ideas; instead, she straddles his lap and pushes him back against the pillows.

He says nothing as she kisses him. After all, she also knows he would be foolish to protest. Her hair hangs down into his face; he lifts his hands to comb it back and out of the way with his fingers.

She braces herself on one forearm and with the other she reaches down and touches him lightly. He exhales sharply and twitches in response. As she strokes and tugs he grows ever harder and begins to groan; his hips thrust up in reflex and his breathing goes quite erratic. She continues kissing him, his mouth, his chin, his throat before taking an earlobe between her teeth and biting gently. She's a little rougher with her hand than usual, but from the sounds he makes he doesn't seem to mind at all; in fact, his fingers release her hair and quickly move to her thighs, then to her hips, gripping quite fervently. He doesn't have to speak to say that he needs her to relieve his agony sooner rather than later.

Low in her throat she makes a sound of amusement; before acquiescing she places her mouth on his throat, sucking and grazing the skin there with her teeth. He mutters a curt "Fuck" as he thrusts upward futilely.

"All right," she whispers hotly into his ear, then licks the lobe. "Promise me you won't leave like that again."

"Promise," he says, his voice raspy.

She shifts, raising herself slightly. With him still in hand, as eager as she is to complete the union, she instead moves the tip over her wetness, causing him to moan again.

"Promise," he says again.

"Not going to just drop everything and leave me," she mutters.

"Never, if I can help it," he manages. 

While still holding him at the gate, as it were, she begins stroking him again. "You don't sound very confident," she says quietly, fingernails tracing on his skin, down the shaft and to points below.

"Never again, full stop," he insists, bucking up as much as he can from beneath her in order to achieve his ends. He doesn't succeed, and whimpers again. "Please."

"Please?" she asks, now beyond stroking to actual gripping with her fingertips. "Please what?"

"Come on. Please let me," he stutters. "Please let me. Need to."

"What, shag me?" she teases. "Think you're not the one in charge."

"Need to…. Please let me come in you," he says at last. "I can't hold on—"

He stops talking when she drops solidly down onto him to take him in fully. As she does, it's her turn now to groan. She moves her hips around, up and down, finding her rhythm as well as the sweet spot that sends her head quickly to spinning. She arches up and he runs his hands up and over her breasts, his fingers playing over the hard points there.

She feels him tense once, twice; then he groans as he grips her hips and pulls her down towards him. She opens her heavy lids to see that he wasn't exaggerating; he is quite clearly climaxing and it's a beautiful, beautiful thing to see.

She places her hands over his own and keeps on moving, lids falling again as she comes closer and closer to her own release. Suddenly she hits that trigger in just the right way and she cries out, wave after wave of bliss overtaking her in such a way that she nearly forgets to breathe. Before she knows it she's fallen forward to kiss him again; his arms come up and around her, holding her closely, protectively. She stretches her legs, sliding her feet down just next to his legs before he rolls her to the side and they kiss and snuggle. After all, they have quite a bit of time for which they have to make up.

"I could have you brought up on charges, you know," he says quietly, an unmistakable humour invading his tone.

"Oh, really? Why?"

"Mm," he says. "Just now, for violating my basic human rights. Possibly torture."

She laughs out loud, running her fingers over his chest.

"I suppose you're right," he concedes. "Not like there was any coercion occurring there. Would have given the same answer anyway." He reaches and kisses her thoroughly. "There's no one else for me but you."

Perfecter even still.

<><><>

**bridgetjoneshf**  
Is anyone familiar with the descriptive phrase "shag drunk"? * stares off into space with vacant, dreamy expression*  
[6/14/11 9:42 AM](https://twitter.com/#!/bridgetjoneshf/status/80555574848266240) (London Summer Time)

* * *

_The end._


End file.
